Firefly Glen Ut in ditt indre ventar bratt ein sti.

Sable heard, but did not answer.

He rather couldn’t. In his learning of living, he’d come to find out that where others could speak, he and his sister could not. His voice did not come out as anything more than a wheeze when he tried, or a whisper if he didn’t.

He did not answer, but he did come. Slipping down the mountain to the Glen on paws that were learning their own limits.

The boy was getting bigger by the day, looking more and more like what he would when he was fully grown.

He slipped from the brush to stand beside his mother, fixing her with a friendly wave of his tail and a raised brow.